


I'm With You

by quillscribe



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Avengers, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Steve Rogers, Gen, Protective Avengers, Protective Sam Wilson, Protectiveness, Steve Angst, Steve Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillscribe/pseuds/quillscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were few people left who could say they knew the real Steve Rogers.  Fewer still could honestly call him a friend.  And now, the one who once knew him best didn't know him at all.  How far would Steve Rogers go to help Bucky?  His friends knew how good Captain America was at self sacrifice.  That was the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Green Show

Intellectually Sam knew history was told by the victors; he just hadn’t realized how much so until he’d gotten to know Steve Rogers.  It turned out the books and movies made Captain America a caricature of himself.  They flattened him out - made him two dimensional and shallow.  The Steve Rogers Sam grew up learning about was the ultimate patriot because that’s what the country thought it needed him to be.        

This, Sam now knew, was irony at its best.  Steve Rogers was no patriot.  He loved his country, absolutely, but had never been blind to its flaws.  He was principled; honorable.  He did everything in his power to protect those who couldn’t do it for themselves; but he was also a man with strong opinions, and wasn’t above playing up his own propaganda if it meant the tactical advantage.

It turned out Steve took up working with S.H.I.E.L.D. full-time because he’d suspected something wasn’t right, and knew the only way he’d find out what was if he was in the thick of it.  He’d let S.H.I.E.L.D. move him to DC and leave what few friends he had behind (except Natasha, who’d made sure she was assigned to his team, and Tony Stark, to whom a few hundred miles was less consequential than a cab ride) not because he was a man who followed orders, but because Steve played a hell of a long game. 

Sam had tried to connect with Steve that first day as a man back from combat, talking about mattresses and a ready quip about farmer’s markets he never got to use.  He tried not to dwell on how naïve those comments had to have seemed to Steve, who not even a few minutes later was called up for an op; part of S.T.R.I.K.E. team Alpha, he later learned, who were very very busy.  Apparently having Captain America on the roster meant things got done. 

Steve Rogers wasn’t home from the war, and knew he never would be.  History had nothing on the reality of the man who’d showed up on Sam’s doorstep supporting an injured Natasha and asking for help.  He did the impossible, going against pretty much everybody - and damned if he hadn’t succeeded. 

All those biographies talked about Captain America as a born leader, and Sam could easily see it, but the Steve Rogers Sam knew wasn’t that guy.  Steve wasn’t part of any team, even the Avengers, although Sam could see Stark and even Natasha doing everything in their power to rectify that.  Maybe he had been to start, but he certainly wasn’t now.     

Here and now, Steve was a man apart, choosing his own battles, and while shocked and grateful when someone stood shoulder to shoulder with him, he never expected it.  This was completely unacceptable to Sam.  Steve Rogers in the twenty-first century was a man in desperate need of friends, especially since he had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. 

“Please God tell me you are kidding,” Sam hissed, eyes huge and trying not to make a scene.  He suspected Steve enjoyed springing this sort of thing on him just to see his reaction.

Sam looked around at the other pedestrians to see if anyone else had heard Steve’s comment.  Nope, no eye contact at all - New Yorkers at their best.  Well, okay, a jogger had glared at Sam when he swung his arms wide in distress, but that was understandable. 

“Of course I’m not kidding,” Steve replied, gently steering Sam out of a stroller-mom’s way. 

They were back in New York from the last of the ‘hunch trips’, as Sam privately called them.  Before Steve started running down leads on Bucky in earnest, he’d made a list of all the places his friend might visit, and systematically gone to each one. 

The Smithsonian had been the one-off; local, easy and where he’d missed Bucky by three days.  The ones in New York had been tough for Steve; partially because of the history there and how much had changed, but also, Steve later admitted, because this was the first time he’d gone back there specifically.  The rest were less accessible and unfortunately a bust. 

He knew Steve had been holding out hope of Bucky approaching him (especially since he insisted on sitting in plain sight and waiting for days on end at each spot before moving on, something Sam suspects he may have gotten an ulcer over).  In the end, while unsurprised, even Steve’s epic stoic-ness couldn’t hide the disappointment.  Sam was exhausted, and Steve…  Steve needed to take a break.

“You’re carrying $565,300 in your backpack?  In cash?” Sam leaned in and demanded quietly.  Steve shrugged.  “And that’s your life savings?” Steve nodded.  Sam made a note to talk to Stark about that.  Back pay plus inflation-adjusted interest should have gotten Captain America more than that, shouldn’t it?  “What if they’d seized it in customs?” Sam asked, imagining all kinds of scenarios.  

“I didn’t have it with me at the airport, Sam.  I mailed it to myself,” Steve said fondly. 

He’d also somehow had his shield shipped overseas and back in a diplomatic pouch.  Said shield had arrived ahead of them and been waiting at the neighborhood gym behind the desk.  Sam would never admit it aloud, but seeing it wrapped up in its easel bag on Steve’s back was better than any security blanket.

“That’s why we stopped at the UPS store?  I thought you were sending some sort of covert communication to Natasha.” 

“That’s what burner phones are for,” Steve replied and steered Sam suddenly into a tight alley so fast he nearly lost his footing. 

“We’ve got a tail?” Sam asked, wishing they were back at the apartment.  He felt way too vulnerable without his guns. 

 “Maybe not,” Steve said as they both tucked against the building and waited a few minutes. 

Sam took a few deep breaths to calm his heart and brace himself.  He was a good soldier with tight reflexes, but every time Steve had to manhandle him to get him out of danger, or in this case to try to spot a tail, he was reminded anew just how fast those Super Soldier reflexes were, and that the rest of the Avengers, let alone the Winter Soldier, were in a weight class well above his own. 

It made him feel small in a fight, but essential for the aftermath.  After all, Sam’s livelihood was in helping others pick up the pieces of their lives, and he’d made it his personal mission to make damn sure Steve Rogers got to have one.  Easier said than done, considering that while Captain America didn’t know how to give up, Steve Rogers had no intention of fighting hard to survive if his death had greater purpose.  Considering his life so far, Sam had no trouble recognizing wishful passive suicidal ideation when he saw it.  Steve might have few objections to dying, but Sam Wilson had a lot.

“The man’s right, Steve.  What are you doing carrying that kind of cash around?  Who do you think you are?  Stark?” a voice asked from above Sam’s head.  He jumped, but saw that Steve was already looking up with a soft smile. 

“Clint,” Steve greeted as Barton leaped off the fire escape and landed with a deft twist in front of them.  He was in jeans and a hoodie, with a Yankees ball cap, which made Steve wince.  “Yankees, Clint?  Really?”  Clint grinned and pointed to Steve’s backpack with a raised eyebrow. 

“I figure I’m safer than a posthole bank,” Steve explained with a shrug and shook Clint’s hand in greeting.  _Posthole bank?_ Sam mouthed to Clint, which made him smile wider.  Steve for the most part used modern day terminology, but every once in a while he’d say something so dated it was jarring; a reminder of how completely different Steve’s past  was than anything Sam could relate to. 

“When did you spot me?” Clint asked. 

“Two blocks back at the dog wash,” Steve said and his eyes crinkled as Clint shook Sam’s hand too.  He wasn’t sure when it happened, but Clint Barton had evidently decided Sam was an Avenger too, and treated him accordingly. It was humbling, being accepted by Avengers.  Steve, however, seemed to think it Sam’s due.  Sam just wished Steve thought of himself as one, too.

“Glad to see you’re still watching out for this guy,” Clint greeted Sam warmly. 

“My knees hurt to see you do that, Barton,” Sam replied, and meant it.  He kept himself in fighting shape, but whereas he survived on fitness and reflexes, Barton and Natasha both made defying gravity look easy.

“Natasha’s been good for you,” Barton told Steve in approval and nodded away from the alley.  “Got any beers?” 

“You know he does, because somebody appreciates the finer things,” Sam joked as Clint turned away to head towards the month-to-month Steve had in Windsor Terrace.  It was a point of pride for Sam to keep the place well stocked.  While it was common knowledge that Steve had to eat more, it didn’t mean he had much of an appetite lately. 

Damn but he was glad Barton was here.  Hopefully Natasha and even Stark might show up soon, too.  Sam took a moment to close his eyes, and when he opened them it was to see Steve watching him quietly.  Sam nodded in reply to his silent question.  _Everything okay?_     

Sam was glad to be back in the states, even though he knew he was no safer than he’d been in Europe.  It had been four weeks since the hospital had finally, unhappily, cut Steve loose, and he’d begun his quest to find Bucky. 

Steve was still superhuman fast, but Sam could see the man wasn’t fully recovered.  He wasn’t sleeping well and he definitely wasn’t taking proper care of himself, despite Sam’s efforts.  He hoped that being in New York would rectify some of that, even if Windsor Terrace wasn’t home.  Sam wasn’t sure Steve had a home at this point, but the about-to-be-gentrified two-bedroom would hopefully be good enough for now.

Sam knew he had a little time to try to feed Steve up and get some rest, but it wouldn’t be long.  A shared glance as they waited for Steve to unlock the front door told him Clint had seen the same signs, and Sam felt something ease in his chest. 

He knew everything Steve did from here on would be bigger and for higher stakes.  He was and continued to be clear on what his intentions were, but Capitol Hill hadn’t stopped clamoring for Captain America to account for things, and whichever government agency stepped in to try to fill S.H.I.E.L.D.’s void would also want him back; partially because of his results, but also because of the legitimacy Steve could provide. 

None of those things were on Steve’s agenda, however, and while the government was beginning to realize Captain America was nobody’s puppet, Sam knew what desperate people were capable of.  Steve Rogers did too.  Things were about to get ugly.

For now, Sam decided as he followed Clint and Steve inside, he was borrowing trouble.  It was coming, no question, but tonight he looked forward to a quiet evening with fascinating friends, good beer and great pizza.  Tomorrow was another day, and Steve was there to see it.  Sam counted that as a win.  


	2. Chapter 2 - Clint

“So, I’m off to bed,” Sam said with a ridiculously fake yawn. Cap smiled fondly when the man grabbed a couple of extra slices of pizza and another beer as he left the room. “You two have fun being all Avenger-y,” Sam added and winked at Clint. 

He’d realized the moment he saw him today that Clint wanted to talk to Cap and had been trying all evening to give him the space he wanted. Cap, however, was both distracted and unfailingly polite to the point that Sam had had to make his exit overt instead.

Clint waved gratefully and quietly assessed Steve’s newest friend as he made his not-so-discreet exit. Sam was exhausted; Clint could see it in the shuffle of his feet and the hunch of his shoulders, yet his good cheer was practically a super power. Clint raised his beer, a silent good-night toast and then tilted his chair back to regard Cap, who was watching him warmly. “You look better,” Steve commented. Clint snorted. 

“I was taking it kinda personal, the way S.H.I.E.L.D. kept trying to get me killed. Oddly, being able to tell myself it was HYRDA instead works for me,” Clint said flippantly and then leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he pointed his bottle at Steve. “Thanks for that, by the way. You, on the other hand, are looking rough.” Steve ran his hands through his hair tiredly, scratching at his scalp, then leaned back onto the couch, arms spread wide. 

The coffee table in front of him was covered with confiscated files, photos, old S.H.I.E.L.D. reports and a laptop with a Bluetooth keyboard beside it. That was all Steve, Clint knew. Laptop keyboards were pretty fragile, and when Cap got tired, shit got damaged. Natasha had tripped to it first, after a few missions with him. Captain America’s insane workout regime wasn’t about staying in shape. He didn’t need to. He did it to stay on top of his strength and keep it carefully in check. All that effort was for him to successfully walk the line between brute strength and finesse; to keep his own body under control. 

“Still better than a month ago,” Steve replied with a shrug. “Is everyone in yet, or are there still people in the wind?” he asked, all business. 

Thank God Natasha was a multi-tasker. She’d broadcast the universal recall order to every operative on assignment at the same time she’d been uploading all S.H.I.E.L.D.’s secrets, but not everyone had the resources he did to get home without support. A data dump that massive had ended up crucially endangering only ten missions as far as he knew. That was a lot of moving parts, but of those in play only sixteen agents and support staff had been critically injured – two life-threatening. Considering the number of deep-cover operatives out there, that number was miraculously low. 

“Those who haven’t checked in and aren’t back yet are looking more and more like moles at this point from what Hill’s said, so I’d say yes.” Cap nodded thoughtfully, expression distant.

“And Rodriguez and Maleh?” he asked. 

Clint started in surprise then took a breath, suddenly nervous. He wasn’t the fanboy Coulson had been, but he’d grown up admiring Captain America like the rest of the nation. He knew the lore, about how beloved Steve Rogers was to the Howling Commandos because he’d genuinely cared in a way COs normally didn’t. There was a reason only one Howling Commando hadn’t survived, and how even that was one too much. Or not, Clint had to amend. Jesus, what a mess. Cap took lives lost hard, and clearly felt these were on his watch. Still, to have known their names and wanted updates…

Karen Rodriguez was working as a non-official cover at World Bank. She’d been shot in Afghanistan trying to evac. Riad al-Maleh was a defector in place in Pakistan whose entire family barely escaped jihadists. Karen’s prognosis was good; Maleh was on life-support at the moment, but doctors thought he might have turned the corner as of last night, according to Hill. When Clint relayed as much, tension he hadn’t realized was there seemed to ease in Steve’s shoulders. He closed his eyes for a second and sighed. 

“It could have been so much worse,” Cap breathed and grinned wryly at Clint. “Natasha is a wonder.” Clint couldn’t help the surprised huff of laughter. 

“I’m telling her you said that.”

“Please do,” Cap replied. “So where do you go from here?” he asked curiously. “I know a lot of others are being snatched up by the FBI and CIA… After a lot of vetting,” he amended ironically. Clint took a breath. This was the question he’d been waiting for. 

“Hopefully I’m on your team,” Clint replied, trying for casual, but really feeling hopelessly vulnerable. Steve frowned for a moment, just a brief micro-expression before he smoothed his face back to neutral. 

“From Washington on has been personal, Clint, and it’s going to continue to be. You’d be better off back in spec ops or with Maria if you’re looking for missions,” Steve replied solemnly after a moment’s pause. 

It stung a little, even if Clint respected his point. It also answered the question as to if Cap had read about Clint’s past missions. He’d been so messed up after Loki that he’d taken anything S.H.I.E.L.D. gave him, no questions asked. In hindsight, he wasn’t even sure what he’d been looking for. Absolution? Redemption? Penance? 

He’d made HYDRA’s job easy for them. They’d wanted him gone, and he’d nearly let them make it happen. The vicious texts he continued to get from Natasha as she (along with the rest of the world) combed through the massive data dump formerly known as S.H.I.E.L.D. nee HYDRA was further testimony to how bad his last two years read. 

The first time Captain America met Clint, he’d taken him on as part of the team at a nod from Natasha. When Clint couldn’t even trust himself, Steve Rogers had trusted him with his life – with the safety of New York. That should have been his sign. Instead, he’d gone off on his own, so full of grief and guilt he’d lost sight of everything important.

Cap’s own team had betrayed him: Rumlow and Rollins and hell, even Natasha had had her moments, she wasn’t proud to admit. Fury had been made a patsy – Clint never saw that coming – and the agency Clint had dedicated the majority of his adult life to was a sham. He didn’t know Sam well, but in this he was absolutely on target – if you were on the same side as Captain America – it was the right side. Sometimes it really was as simple as that.

“Frankly I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” Cap admitted. Clint frowned and opened his mouth to argue when he saw the red dot sight hover over Steve’s heart. 

“Holy shit,” Clint exclaimed and launched himself at Cap over the coffee table, angling to throw his body in front of the man as he tackled him down. Instead, Steve caught Clint and let the leap’s momentum spin him behind like a swing dance partner, making Cap Clint’s shield instead. Clint was about to yank hard on Steve’s shoulder to pull him aside when he realized how intently Steve was staring out the window. 

The sound of beer bottles falling to the floor was enough to clue Sam in. “What?!” Sam called out. Clint could hear soft cursing and a thump as he watched Steve tilt his head and hold out his hand, face blank and expectant. Clint paused mid-effort, as clearly Cap had no intention of being moved anywhere. 

Clint remembered cartoons like that – with the kitten trying to budge a giant bulldog who thought it cute. Next time he trained with Captain America at Stark’s Tower Clint made silent promises to not hold back. Weaponry – the great equalizer. 

“Sorry, Clint. I don’t think I’m the target,” he breathed, then added, “Besides, the glass is bulletproof.” He reached his hand further out and cupped his palm slightly. If anyone else had eyes on, they wouldn’t be able to see the sight easily. The light flit into it, and stayed focused, then began to blink in Morse code. _Four_ _min_ , Clint read. Not a foe, but also not anyone Clint had spotted when he’d tailed Sam and Cap. It made the hair raise on Clint’s forearms.

“The walls aren’t bulletproof, or are you forgetting Fury already?” Clint objected as adrenaline and confusion sparked simultaneously to combine with his irritation at Roger’s missing self-preservation instincts. 

Cap walked to the window, his face in profile enough for Clint to read his lips. “ _Thank you. Stay safe. I got this_ ,” he mouthed silently then decisively closed the curtains. The spin and leap over the couch startled Clint, who watched him crouch down and reach under a cushion for a cotton laundry bag. Moving impossibly fast, he began to gather up all the documents on the coffee table. 

Clint grabbed the bag and held it open automatically as Cap stuffed all his intel so far in. Between them, they’d cleared the table in less than a minute of everything, including the laptop. Cap cinched it shut and ran for the front door, pausing less than a second to clear the hallway before surging out of sight. 

“Really?” Clint asked the empty room as he began doing quick checks on his own guns. He packed extra nowadays, but he had to assume that if they were coming for Captain America, it’d be a small army. 

“What’s going on? Where’s Steve?” Sam demanded as he hopped out of his room on one foot, pulling on his combat boots. 

“In the hallway,” Clint growled. “Company’s coming in two and a half minutes.” 

Sam nodded and disappeared back in the bedroom to return with a duffle. He tossed it on the floor in front of Clint and threw on a black sweatshirt over his tee. He then gathered up the bag Rogers had said carried his life savings as well as his shield and leaned it against the couch. 

Steve reappeared empty handed in time for the landline phone to start ringing. Cap paused, which surprised both Sam and Clint into stillness as he answered. 

“Hello?” Steve Rogers asked politely, not even out of breath. Clint wanted to shake the man. 

“Are you kidding me?” Sam whispered and waved his arms with all the indignation Clint was feeling. He loved Sam a little in that moment. 

“Yes ma’am,” Cap said, and nodded, flapping his hand at Sam in a silent _settle down_ motion. 

“What do you know?” Sam asked Clint quietly as he opened the action and did a quick visual of his guns, gearing up for battle. Of course Clint had known it already, but this was his first time at Sam’s side in a fight. Already he was living up to Nat’s description of him. 

“I’m assuming HYDRA’s coming, but don’t know for certain,” Clint explained. 

“You did exactly right, ma’am. I’m grateful,” Cap said, then paused and gave a fond smile. “That would be marvelous,” he said, then huffed. “That’s right, just like a phone tree,” he agreed. “I will. Thank you. Good bye,” he said politely, then hung up and ran for the entry closet, where he pulled out two bulletproof vests. He tossed one each to Sam and Clint. 

“You’re missing one,” Sam said angrily. “Who here has been shot in the last few months?” 

“That would be Clint and myself,” Cap replied.

“Nat, you tattletale,” Clint scowled as Cap pulled his shield out the bag and held it aloft. 

“This’ll work just fine, Sam,” he assured the man, and Clint stared as he realized just how much less intense Steve Rogers seemed at the moment. 

“Why is he cheerful?” Sam demanded of Clint. “Steve Rogers is snarky and full of not-helpful quips before a battle, but not normally cheerful,” he accused, and squinted his eyes at Clint suspiciously as Cap ran into his own bedroom and reappeared with a large canvas backpack. 

“What the hell? Steve, is that…?” Sam breathed, and Clint felt uncomfortable at the raw emotion in Sam’s face. 

Steve beamed, beyond pleased at Sam’s reaction. It was shocking how young it made him look – how different. Clint had to blink a few times to reconcile this side of him, and it pained him to realize he’d never seen it before. Clint found himself suddenly furious at the world at large. Captain America deserved more moments of happiness than this, he thought angrily. 

“I was going to give it to you when we left the city, because it still needs to be fully tested out. I assume you’re okay doing it sooner?” Cap asked warmly. Somehow Rogers had gotten ahold of another Falcon wingpack, or possibly a Stark facsimile, Clint realized, pleased. That would make egress a hell of a lot easier. 

“But I didn’t get you anything,” Sam protested as he quickly took the proffered bag and began carefully unpacking it.

“Shall we head for the roof?” Cap asked, prompting Clint to look away from Sam who was efficiently getting into his gear. In Cap’s arms was a compact tactical launcher with grappling hook and rope as well as a cable trolley. 

“No wonder Tony insists on calling you a Boy Scout,” Clint said with a pleased smile. “With gear like that, I’d think you’d need a bigger closet.” 

“Why do you think I have so few clothes?” Cap retorted. 

Clint jumped at the sudden onset of loud air horns that began to sound outside. “What the hell?” he asked aloud and turned to take a peek from behind the closed curtains. 

“Don’t bother. They’re on our side,” Cap explained as he donned his backpack. Sam had frozen too and tilted his head curiously before realization dawned. 

“Steve Rogers, did you set up a Neighborhood HYDRA Watch?” Sam asked with laughter in his voice. Clint couldn’t help the surprised snicker that burst forth. 

“I did, but we still need to get out fast and take the fight someplace with less civilians,” Steve replied. “It’s late enough that Prospect Park will work.” 

“Maria can get us out from there,” Clint offered only to pause at the look on Steve’s face. 

“No. No extraction. If you still want in, then this is where we start,” he said and Clint felt his breath catch. 

Of course this was personal for Steve. The Winter Soldier was his closest, dearest friend, and HYDRA had tortured, brainwashed and stripped him of his humanity for decades. Clint knew full well what Cap’s mission was, and how far he’d go to protect his friend from further harm. He would take it all the way. The big difference between then and now was that this time, Clint meant to insure he didn’t go down with the damn plane. 

Now, as in New York, Clint envied Phil’s hero worship of the man, because it meant he’d recognized more than any movie reel could show. Somehow he’d known that the reality of Captain America was far bigger than history could ever properly reflect. In less than a week, prompted by a five minute conversation, Captain America had taken down the most powerful counterterrorism and intelligence agency the world had ever seen. Natasha had been so ridiculously right: he should have been here all along. 

“Hell yes,” Clint promised, heart pumping and grinning manically. 

“Oh God. Here we go again,” Sam said, and while the tone was pained, his own expression was just as fiercely wild. 

“On my mark,” Cap said at the door, in sweatpants and a t-shirt, shield ready, and Clint hadn’t felt this good - this clean - in a long long time. Captain America knew how to pick the good fights: he’d give him that. 


	3. Chapter 3 - Clint

The sheer number of enemy combatants took all of them by surprise, even Rogers.  They’d been trying to reach the roof for ten minutes now after successfully deflecting the initial onslaught, complete with flashbangs and gas grenades.  As more and more armed troops poured in, Clint knew their odds declined fast, even with Steve on one side plowing through bodies between his shield and a gun, and Clint and Sam at his back trying to clear a path to the stairwell. 

HYDRA soldiers had surged in in astonishing numbers; between the front door, the breaching charges that had taken out Rogers’ reinforced windows, and blast holes from neighboring apartments’ shared walls, they’d been surrounded until they’d fought their way through to the hallway.  Clint and Sam tucked flush and low against the opposite wall, trying to make themselves as narrow targets as possible. 

Steve’s technique was brutal hand to hand combined with kill shots when he got behind his opponents’ ballistic shields and using his own shield as a battering ram.  He flung it both directions to keep HYDRA on the defensive despite their numbers; otherwise it wouldn’t take much to make the hallway a kill zone. 

Normally Clint could strategically count on opponents’ fear of being taken out by friendly fire, but this was HYDRA they were talking about, and dying with ‘Hail HYDRA’ on their lips was their ‘raison d'être’ as Natasha would say.

 “New plan,” Steve panted softly into their headsets.  His stash of weaponry and equipment had accounted for every scenario _except_ not-so-small military assaults.  That was poor planning on his part, Clint decided in dry humor. 

“We can’t go up,” Cap continued, and yeah, their options were dwindling.  “So I’m going to punch a hole.  Sam, take Clint and get to higher ground.  With this much firepower, Prospect Park is undoubtedly a trap, but we need them as contained as possible and to get out of here before civilians get hurt.” 

“Punch a hole where?” Sam asked as he and Clint took shots from behind their own commandeered ballistic shields.  Their body count was nothing on the sheer numbers stepping up to take their places. 

Rogers caught his shield in a spin and continued that momentum, much like a discus thrower.  He then flung himself against the wall of his own apartment, pushing off hard with his hands braced against the shield and spun mid-air, coiled up tight and dropping lower.  He brought his legs up so that he could then shove hard up and diagonally with both legs and arms.  He managed to launch himself high enough to be fully airborne, and this time instead of hitting with his shield, Steve tucked and shifted to land with his feet flat against the wall.

For one moment, Rogers was completely open, parallel to the floor and exposed as he launched off the wall and hurled himself at and then _through_ the wall opposite his apartment.  As he crashed through shield first, Clint thrilled at the wisdom of Rogers’ strategy even as they slipped in behind him.  The majority of snipers on the roof would be east facing, towards Rogers’ place, as were any remaining rappellers who’d yet to come through Steve’s window.  Punching through HYRDA’s perimeter gave them a few precious seconds before the snipers adjusted positions accordingly.

Steve didn’t slow as he continued to run through the vacant small apartment with its’ west facing window, and it took Clint a second to puzzle out why Rogers shifted low instead of leaping through it.  With his momentum, he took out the masonry beneath the window which created a much bigger hole.  This would be plenty for Sam to launch with Clint, but didn’t help Cap, who let himself drop six stories and land hard on his shield.   

Glass shattered and crashed out explosively, and Sam didn’t waste a moment as his jet pack fired up and his wings deployed.  Momentarily obstructed from shooting behind him by Sam’s wings, Clint kept running backward, gun at the ready as Sam’s arms locked around him and he found himself suddenly with open air below his feet instead of carpet.  Then they slammed against the building across the alley.    

“Sorry!” Sam yelled above the roar.

“Jesus!” Clint objected, as he’d taken the brunt of impact, then his teeth rattled as Sam throttled up, dragging him briefly against the brick before pulling away far enough to roar up and out of the alley with surprising g’s. 

“He jumped,” Sam said numbly as he whipped over Brooklyn’s rooftops, flying erratically enough to keep anyone from getting a bead on them, then briefly dropping Clint mid-air only to catch him facing outward. 

“Warn a guy!” Clint objected, but there wasn’t much heat to it.  He’d already adjusted his sights and now could defend them much easier even as Sam held onto his chest impossibly tight. His arms had to be getting tired between Clint’s own weight and the force of gravity.

“’M fine,” Steve gritted out over the radio as Clint began looking for a perch.  He needed the right gun – his M-4 was great in a clinch, but since Cap planned to head towards Prospect Park Clint would need a lot more than that to provide proper cover fire.

“Course you are,” Clint wheezed – Sam’s grip was like iron – and took out three different targets as they roared past.  “He dropped at least 18 stories at the Triskelion,” he added to reassure Sam, prompting a snort from Rogers. 

“Did that happen before or after being shot at with ballistic missiles?” Sam gritted. 

“There!” Clint said – there were troops lining the rooftops all along 11th Avenue, but in a few key positions he’d already figured which ones were like him.  The moment he pointed, Sam went, and it was exhilarating and terrifying how wildly Sam flew.  They had to, though, because even with the ambient city light, it was still night time, and Sam’s jets made them a pretty target. 

The HYDRA sniper didn’t have time to even swing his barrel around before Clint took him out.  He marveled at how efficiently Sam’s pack got whisper quiet the moment he wasn’t throttling as Clint quickly assessed what kind of ammo he had to work with.  Sam was doubled over behind an air conditioning unit, taking a couple of deep breaths and shaking his arms to regain circulation. 

Clint dragged the dead sniper out of his spot and got low behind the scope of the dead man’s PSG1 to get eyes on Cap.  He hated they’d lost sight of him, even if it was only for a few minutes - it felt interminably long.  The fake police had set up blockades at Sherman and Windsor Place, and both police and SWAT uniforms were thick on the ground, but HYDRA’s elite assault teams hadn’t yet left Steve’s building, so were a few minutes behind.  They were all deadly, but had saved the most lethal to take on Cap directly.  HYDRA kept 17th clear for the initial attack so as not to tip Rogers off, but had enough reinforcements staged nearby to fill a small stadium. 

He had to give credit that HYDRA had gone to decent lengths to make the op look legit too, even staging a few token fire engines and ambulances nearby.  But Steve’s neighborhood watch had done its job – the streets weren’t lined with onlookers like they normally would be – even this late at night.  Having armed firefighters and paramedics as well as police carrying AK-47s seemed to help too – New Yorkers weren’t stupid.

“You got this?” Sam asked between puffs of breath – he was recovering fast, clenching his fists a few times and then taking up his own weapons, ready to head out after Rogers.

“Yeah, I’m good for now.  I’ll let you know when I need to move.  Give me a sec to clear you some airspace and go get Cap some cover.” 

Gunshots so loud and close together it was like Hong Kong during the Chinese New Year heralded Rogers’ arrival as he zigzagged towards 16th Avenue at super human speeds.  He hurled himself over police cars and bashed into parked vans and the sides of buildings with his shield to abruptly switch directions, still pushing forward but not in any way predictably. 

It was a deadly gauntlet, and if Clint hadn’t seen Steve navigating through, he’d never thought surviving it possible, especially not with how many HYDRA soldiers were there.  He watched for a moment to pick up Steve’s rhythm – Clint couldn’t anticipate his path any better than HYDRA could, which was remarkable, really: momentum was not easy to make unpredictable.  However, after watching Cap’s technique, Clint found he could intuit what might help clear Cap’s way, at least. 

Clint let out a breath and squeezed the trigger in rapid succession, nice and easy.  With Steve their only objective, it was simple enough to take out the ones posing real danger like so many whack-a-moles as they revealed themselves.  Rogers alternated between throwing the shield and letting its ricochet take out both men and guns, and swinging it above and around his head as a substitute for body armor plates and his helmet.  It seemed like meager protection against so much firepower – they were impossible odds, really.  Maybe it could only work because Cap was just that good. 

“Now’s the time,” Clint said, as he took out six in a row lying in wait for Steve, but Sam had already launched into the air before he could finish the sentence. 

Clint could hear the intake of breath from Sam the moment he realized the same thing Clint had – namely that Cap not being swiss cheese by now was something that could change at any second.  Clint continued to line up his shots with shocking ease – they’d start scrambling soon enough - to provide some additional small margin of cover.  Sam streaked between buildings and caught Cap, who’d leapt up to meet Wilson as soon as he heard him coming. 

“Thank God,” Clint muttered and let out a gusty relieved breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“Still don’t want that extraction?!” Sam asked over the comms, making Clint snort even as he switched to a different channel and reached out for help. 

“Hill!  Tell me you’re on this!” Clint called as he reloaded and stood up.  He ran across the rooftop, ignoring the burn from Wilson’s slam into the building, and slid forward into the opposite edge to keep them in his sights. 

He’d lost track of his kills, and for a moment the craziness of overwhelming odds and enemies crawling through the streets of Brooklyn gave him a brief flashback to the Battle of New York.  Focused, deep breaths kept the panic at bay - _You’re in control.  You’re calling the shots -_ and his mind clear, but it took precious seconds. 

“We are,” Hill responded immediately as Clint continued to make his shots count, fear already channeled back into adrenaline.  He was running low on ammo. 

Hill’s voice was clear and rushed – she was either on scene or nearby.  “Cavalry’s on the way.  It’s definitely Rogers they’re after, and it’s more of a kill than capture order, although they’d love that one,” she continued, then added, “Police are already on-site, so no need to inform on how fubar that is telling friend from foe.  Until we get there, plan on it staying dicey.”

“Support is welcome but an extract would be better.  They’re waging full-on urban warfare here,” Clint told her and took cover as the other snipers nearby finally realized their people were getting shot from one of their own nests. 

Clint ducked down, barely avoiding some fairly decent shots, he had to concede.  His window of time was up: he needed better cover.  He grabbed the gear and searched out his next spot one building over.  A brief lull in the gunfire had him up and free running full tilt by the time he reached the ledge.  He pushed himself off much like Cap had, landing in a roll as his thrown gear scattered wide to insure he didn’t hurt himself. 

He’d lost visual on Sam and Cap.  In a perfect world, Sam’s pack would be enough to carry Steve to safety, but even the roar of Sam’s thrusters couldn’t completely drown out the telltale _whup whup whup_ displacement of air heralding a helicopter, and when the hair raised on Clint’s forearms he didn’t hesitate to abandon everything but his gun and run. 

“Shit!”

“Talk to me, Barton,” Hill said in his ear.

 _So much for collateral damage_ , Clint thought as he leapt yet another gap between buildings – this one farther than the last – almost too far.  He rolled and jumped up, already in motion, and dodged sideways to throw himself behind a chimney stack.  He wished he still had the grappler – he needed to be less exposed – and was trying to figure out the path of least injury when the rooftop he’d just been on exploded. 

If the assault copter had decided to stop and target him specifically, Clint’s number would have been up.  As it was, he’d been protected from most of the initial shockwave save for the ringing in his ears and a little flash burn.  Thankfully, other than being tossed a bit and held down by the follow-up gunfire nearby, the helicopter hadn’t even slowed on its way to where Sam and Cap were trying to make their escape.  Clint had just been an afterthought. 

“They’ve got serious firepower here, Hill.  How far out is the cavalry?” he demanded as he watched said copter dip out of sight. 

Groaning as he stood up and now obscured by the smoke from the building behind him, Clint coughed as he ran forward, keeping low.  When he ran out of roof was when he finally caught sight of Sam with Steve in his arms making for the park as fast as Falcon’s pack could take them.  Wilson was sacrificing all but minimal evasion for speed, and at their present rate would be out of visual in less than two minutes.  It was time to move on, but the next set of apartments were too far to jump. 

 “There’s at least one attack helicopter, Humvees with high caliber guns, hundreds of troops on the ground, and - Shit!” Clint exclaimed, ducking behind another chimney stack.  “Snipers everywhere.  Wanna tell the class what prompted this?  Cap’s been all over lately, and I haven’t heard of so much as a sneeze in his direction before now.”

Another helicopter rose up from where it had been hiding somewhere near Bartel-Pritchard Square, which must have been hysterical – all those rich folks looking out their bedroom windows and seeing that hovering right outside.  Damn if they weren’t boxing Cap in, just like he’d predicted.  Prospect Park would be his only option, so it was a good thing he’d already planned for it.  Now Clint needed to work on his own egress or he’d be of no use to them in less than a minute. 

“Make that two gunships,” Clint amended, and growled when he realized he’d interrupted.  Hill had been talking, he just hadn’t been able to hear most of her reply above the tinnitus still buzzing in his ears. 

“Can’t hear you – sorry,” he  muttered, and then added, “One sec,” while he switched her over to join them on Sam and Steve’s channel. 

“…stupid!  I can do this, Cap!” Sam was arguing.  Thankfully that was loud enough half of Brooklyn could hear it.  Clint plugged his nose and breathed out to pop his eardrums.  He rolled his jaw a few times, and rubbed the sides his head against his shoulders to wipe away dampness he hoped was sweat.  It hurt like hell, but did seem to help.

“…  I know you can, but you’re gonna get hit,” Steve was saying.  “I’m too heavy.  I promise you I can do this, Sam.  You just gotta drop me in the lake,” Cap continued in a soothing voice, not even out of breath as he twisted his body to hurl his shield yet again. 

Clint grimaced as he realized that the lake was over two blocks away and tried to puzzle out why Cap wanted to be dropped there.  While it wasn’t winter that water would still be plenty cold, and Sam wasn’t wrong in thinking there had to be better spots.  Then Clint switched from night vision to thermal imaging on his scope in dawning realization.  _Oh holy hell._

He’d had no ideahow much Cap stood out compared to everyone else.  What should have been a blended blur of bodies dwarfed by the heat generated from Sam’s pack instead showed as two clearly separate entities of surprisingly differing core temperatures.  Steve’s armor must normally compensate for that, Clint realized, because this was news to him. 

“Jesus, even in this you manage to wear a bulls-eye!” Clint said and Steve gave a breathy laugh in relief. 

“Barton, I’m damn glad to hear your voice.  What’s your status?” Rogers asked.

“Trying to catch up with the action, but had a few distractions,” Clint replied as he watched them turn hard and dive to avoid being hit.  “We’ve got help on the ground and on the way, but until they get it sorted it’s a mess.  Falcon, Cap’s got the right of it.  I had no idea he ran that hot, but he shows up like a Christmas tree on the thermal imaging – dropping him in the lake is gonna help, especially with those helicopters.”

“Then you’re a sitting duck in the water,” Sam objected between frantic puffs of breath.  Wilson had to be nearing the end of his endurance holding Cap – who was heavy as hell without also throwing his shield around. 

For that matter, how Rogers continued to throw his shield and catch it while travelling at 30+ mph and still compensate for Wilson’s evasive maneuvers – at night - was itself a feat.  All it took was one quick look for Cap to keep that shield coming back as if it were nothing. 

It was incredible, like watching Natasha in her element, and refreshing, he realized.  He felt no guilt or ambiguity – his objective was simple and righteous.  It surprised him to realize he was grinning savagely as he watched them evade the assault copters.  Yeah, even if he died in the next five minutes, Clint was exactly where he wanted to be for the first time in a long time.

“That lake is about 60 acres, and look around.  I have the advantage here,” Steve said matter-of-factly.  Clint’s eyes widened at the odd phrasing even as the words sunk in, and Sam must have come to the same conclusion, because suddenly they were losing altitude and going full tilt for the water. 

It was the very thing that defined Captain America’s past, yet was also easy to forget in the here and now.  Prospect Park was over 500 acres, and not all of it carefully groomed.  Steve Rogers cut his teeth on the battleground in the countryside of Europe behind enemy lines.  He knew a thing or two about overwhelming odds.  It was time to defer to his expertise. 

“If you see a window, come get me and I can keep ‘em ducking; otherwise I’m out of range for a few,” Clint said and threw himself over the edge to drop down onto a fire escape. 

He was hoping to blend in with the phony police also heading towards the park to cloak his own passage, but until he got street side he also had other snipers to worry about.  There was nothing for it, though.  His back hurt, but his hearing was mostly restored and thank God he wasn’t experiencing any vertigo.  It allowed him to flip himself over the edge and drop down each story instead of messing with the stairs, which cut his descent time in half. 

“Hill is on her way,” Clint continued as he shifted his body weight to swing out and over.  He hated like hell that he hadn’t been able to keep up with them.  He was about to let Wilson and Steve know Hill was on their channel too when a welcome voice interjected.

“Have no fear, more air support is here!” Stark said over the comm, his voice breathless and clearly within an Iron Man suit.  “I got Hawkeye, Falcon, stick with Cap,” Tony instructed, and seconds later metal hands circled Clint’s ribs in a catch and yanked him up hard as he’d leapt over the railing.  He blamed his ears on not hearing Tony’s approach.  As it was, only years of training kept Clint from shrieking in surprise as he soared up high and eastward towards the battle. 

“Great timing.  Are you up to taking on those gunships yourself?” Clint asked frankly after turning to get a better handhold on Iron Man’s suit.  The wind tore at his face, making him miss his tactical glasses.  He had to squint to see at all. 

The past year of recovery for Stark post thoracic surgery had been arduous.  Clint hadn’t even known Stark had built another suit.  Last he’d heard Stark had blown them all up.  They’d all taken to visiting Tony occasionally as he recovered, which had been a mixed bag. 

Stark didn’t take weakness well, most especially his own.  It made him snappish and his humor biting.  Not that it kept Clint from visiting, but it did reduce the frequency.  He didn’t stop by nearly as often as Rhodes and even Steve, who’d apparently developed a thick hide in the intervening time since being at each other’s throats.

“You tell your grandmother how to suck eggs?” Stark responded.  Clint wished it sounded more confident, but he’d take what he could get.  He couldn’t help wondering if this was Iron Man’s first spin in his new suit though. 

“Where’s Hill?” Clint asked as he watched Sam let go of Steve, who even airborne was able to maneuver his shield closely to his chest and pull his legs in so he could skip like a stone across the lake.  Abruptly he leaned sharply to turn hard right and yanked up to go briefly airborne before submarining underneath the water. 

“That looks cold,” Sam commented and swooped straight between the two gunships.  “You see him?” Sam asked as he buzzed over the surrounding trees in a zig zag pattern.  “Shit, I need some goggles.  Hello, friend, time to donate to the cause,” Sam commented and abruptly dived out of sight.

“Not yet,” Tony replied.  “J, you tracking his shield yet?”  Smart.   There was likely only one object made of vibranium in this battle.

“Not yet, sir,” Jarvis’ voice came over the com, and Clint approved the strategy, considering Cap would now disappear into the throng of other bodies showing up on the thermals.  There were easily eighty or so on foot, as well as armed vehicles, in fact.... 

Clint pointed when he saw his mark – a Humvee with a .50 cal gun mounted was heading straight towards where Steve went under, bouncing roughly as it tore across the park lawn, headlights streaking across the terrain erratically in the urban semi-darkness.  Stark dropped Clint on top of the gunner, who he easily ejected, and began sending short bursts of fire on the surrounding troops in the hopes it would buy him time before being discovered.  So far the driver was none the wiser. 

“What nice hardware you have, Falcon,” Tony complimented as he launched several missiles on the gunships.  The copter that had gone after Clint turned on Iron Man, but the second continued to search for Rogers. 

“The throttle sticks a little, but man, Stark, you’ve outdone yourself,” Sam wheezed as he opened fire on startled troops below now that both hands were free.  Tony snorted, then let out a quiet ‘Yes’ as two of his rockets hit their mark – the helicopter’s rotor suddenly lurched sideways as it barreled towards the ground – its occupants too slow to jump away in time. 

Abruptly the second helicopter was going down too even though it had evaded Stark’s fire - its’ tail rotor nearly snapped in half, just as Jarvis said dryly, “Found him, sir.” 

It never ceased to amaze Clint how human the AI sounded, and really, how good Stark was at what he did.  Hell, he’d even created Sam’s original jet pack, and now here he was with an all new suit.  Clint wondered how it worked now that Stark didn’t have a giant hole in his chest, and really, if he was even recovered enough to be doing this at all.

If there was more chatter, Clint couldn’t hear it above the roar of the gun as he continued to take out as many HYDRA soldiers as possible.  Unfortunately his driver had tripped to his gunner’s change in allegiance and came to a skidding stop in the grass.  Clint leapt down from the turret and shot the driver before he had time to get his own weapons up, then plucked the man’s night vision goggles off to join Cap on foot. 

Clint took deep, measured breaths as he ran forward, ducking behind trees and taking out agents as he ran past.  He was starting to encounter more and more bodies now, both injured or dead, and was about to ask for a status report when he realized Tony was hovering overhead staring at something even as Wilson continued to flit between the trees and dive down, opening fire then zipping away with impressive agility. 

“What is it, Tony?” Clint asked, alarmed.  This in turn caused Wilson to pause and look toward Stark as well.  Tony didn’t say anything, and instead pointed to the trees. 

“Okay, well.  He wasn’t kidding,” Stark said, seeming to shake himself and resumed firing at various vehicles including the one Clint had abandoned.  The freezing thing was contagious, as now Wilson was doing it – hovering above the tree line and staring below.  Clint switched from thermals to night vision to see if that could get him a better look at what had caught their attention.

“What’s going on?!” Clint demanded and picked up speed, running full tilt towards the direction Sam faced.  Stark was not easily rendered speechless.

“We’ve got a full perimeter and are closing in now,” Hills voice announced.  “Anything inside the net is either you or bad guys, so happy hunting, gentlemen.” 

Clint could hear the click indicating he’d just been put into a private channel.  “Take your time, man.  There’s not going to be anything left by the time you get there,” Sam said in awe.  With another click, they were back on the main channel.

“That was the last of ‘em, Cap,” Sam said, and gave a soft whistle, but didn’t say anything more.  It struck Clint how even in the midst of battle, he could tell when it was Sam the Counselor at the wheel and not Falcon, and damn if his instincts weren’t spot on.  Hell, Clint already had had his own set of flashbacks.  God knows what it must be like for Rogers. 

Clint slowed to a stop and put his hands on his knees for a moment to take a breath.  Then he stood back up and looked over his shoulder towards the barrage of hastily erected portable lighting towers in the clearing nearby flooding the park in brutal fluorescent white.  The generators hummed faintly, and radio squelches occasionally interrupted the steady chatter of voices emanating in stereo from hundreds of handhelds tuned to the same frequencies.  The cavalry was officially on-site.

LED police lights strobed red and blue against the surrounding trees of the thicket that still concealed Clint.  It bathed Steve in odd colors as he emerged from the shadows beside him as stealthily as Natasha ever could, his shield held in one hand and a fixed blade knife in the other.  Rogers was shivering a bit, but didn’t seem to mind.  He nodded in greeting.

“You okay?” Steve asked, still tense as he kept eyeing the terrain around them, then turned his attention towards the waiting police and tactical support Hill’s people now provided.  They weren’t S.H.I.E.L.D., so what were they?  Stark Police, Clint wondered? 

“I’m good.  You?” Clint asked.  He didn’t miss Steve’s eyes graze his face and neck with a slight frown.  Crap.  It probably was blood he’d felt coming from his ears.

“A few grazes, but nothing serious.”  Steve nodded again and turned his attention further out and above the treeline, eyes assessing; looking for something.  Clint wondered what kind of vision he had, as it had to be enhanced.  Could he see further, too?  He certainly hadn’t bothered with night vision goggles like Clint and Sam had. 

Abruptly, Steve stilled.  Clint brought up his gun, instantly back on high alert.  “Did you get a chance to get the things I asked for?” Cap asked quietly. 

Clint had.  Two sets of fake identities with James Buchanan Barnes’ face on them, including passports, driver’s licenses, and even several Stark ids the assassin could use as a proof of employment if need be.  It was enough to rent a place and show he held a job.  More than enough to disappear and start a new life if he so chose. 

Clint nodded and reached slowly inside his jacket, now aware what Steve had been looking for, and also curious what he’d seen to alert him.  It wouldn’t do to make any sudden moves around a deadly sniper with what had to be a tenuous grip on reality.  Clint was glad Steve was so sure about the guy, because yeah, he wasn’t. 

“I did,” Clint replied and handed the ziplocked bundle over.  

Steve tucked his blade away and set his shield at his feet.  Then, just as he had in the apartment, he reached out his hand.  As before, a red sight blipped morse code in his palm.  Clint frowned as he read it: _OK._   What did that mean?  That Barnes was okay, or the scene? 

Steve huffed a soft laugh and scrubbed at his face, then slowly pulled off the backpack he’d been wearing to slip Clint’s forged documents inside.  He gave a tight smile and nodded.  Clint frowned as the sight tracked over to his left shoulder and realized it hadn’t been a statement.  It was a question: _OK?_  

 _Oh hell,_ Clint realized _,_ as Steve put a hand to his shirt that came away red even in the near darkness, and grimaced in concern.  Dammit.  He’d known there was no way anyone, even Cap, could run a gauntlet like that unscathed.

“I thought you said a few grazes,” Clint asked, concerned.  Steve had only been out of the hospital, what – a month? And yeah, anyone with eyes could see the man still wasn’t fully recovered, even now.

“And a through and through,”Steve amended reluctantly, like it was Clint being unreasonable here.

“Just one?” Clint pressed.  The sight dropped down to hover over Cap’s thigh, which made him sigh gustily. 

“Alright.  _Two_.  Two through and throughs, are you happy?  I’m not trying to be stoic, here.  I’ve been kind of busy,” Steve said, and Clint realized Rogers’ exasperation covered a far deeper exhaustion.  In that moment, he felt he understood, probably better than most. 

After all, Clint’s original plan had been to protect Steve from his own inevitable heartbreak at futilely trying to save a lost friend, only now…  Unless it was an elaborate ruse, which Clint doubted, at least some part of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was still aware, and functional enough to be concerned for Steve. 

Even after nearly seventy years of intensive, brutal programming from brainwashing so effective the man had come a hair’s breadth from killing Cap, Barnes was trying to look out for him.  Clint knew what he’d do for Natasha.  This was Steve Rogers’ oldest and dearest friend.  What wouldn’t Cap do for him?  Clint knew instinctively this moment - right here - was where everything changed.    

Cap smiled brightly in the twilight, but with no real warmth.  Instead, it was all teeth: sharp and edgy and every inch the hardened soldier.  This was who Phil had admired most; who’d been cut off in his prime; who shouldered his burdens and pushed forward because he didn’t know how to fail, and whose strength had carried the hopes of a nation. 

But Cap wasn’t technically even thirty, and had recently nearly died from his wounds.  Two years ago, he’d woken up to learn he’d lost everyone he’d ever loved.  Less than two months ago, he’d learned the horrific fate of his best friend.  This was what worried Natasha, and what she’d warned Clint about.  She knew better than most: everyone has a breaking point. 

Cap had changed a lot since New York, and Clint wasn’t sure it was for the better.  Emotionally, the only thing Clint could equate Cap with before was that of a raw, exposed nerve.  He’d been too grief stricken for subterfuge.  Now all Clint could see was his game face.  Hell, Clint hadn’t even seen Rogers flinch when he’d taken off his back pack.  He’d just moved a little slower, which could easily have been explained by fatigue. 

“Sorry, that was rude,” Steve apologized with a heavy sigh, and something about his tone sent chills up Clint’s spine.  He sounded old and tired and resigned.  He lifted the backpack with his life savings and Barnes’ forged papers in it and, without hesitation, swung it high into the trees.  He looked back to where he must have sighted Barnes and pointed upward.  _This is for you._   He then straightened and took a deep breath. 

“You asked me a question earlier, and I didn’t get to answer,” Steve began, turning his attention fully to Clint.  It was a heady thing, and Clint was disconcerted by it.  Usually, Sam made a terrific buffer, because Steve Rogers on his own was just…  Intense.  Okay, so he did still suffer from a bit of hero worship himself, dammit.  He’d had a shitty childhood.  He was never telling Phil. 

Cap’s voice was deep and certain as he said, “I’d be honored to have you on my team in whatever way you choose, for as long as you like.”  Clint refrained from pumping his fist in the air, but suspected he hadn’t succeeded in playing it cool either, based on the slight twitch of Cap’s lip.   

“Awesome,” Clint replied, thinking, _You couldn’t get rid of me anyway.  Especially not after this_.  They couldn’t have said it any louder if they’d put it in sky writing.  Hell, they kind of had.  Captain America was HYDRA’s most wanted. 

As the reality of that sunk in, Clint glanced around him and asked, “So, what next?”  After all, neither one of them were rushing to step out of the relative safety of the woods.  For that matter, neither Stark nor Sam had landed yet.  They hovered nearby, waiting on Steve.

“I believe ‘em when they say the scene’s secure,” Clint added, and realized that in Rogers’ place he had no idea what he’d do next.  “It’s your call.  Do you want to disappear?  Go off the grid?  We can still do that.” 

“No, I know what I need to do next,” Cap said, his voice thick with something Clint wasn’t able to interpret and his expression determined.  Steve picked up his shield and fitted it over his arm, then headed out into the circle of lights.  Clint walked at his side, and watched Stark and Sam land to join them.  Clint knew they were at a tipping point, but wasn’t sure what it signified. 

As they walked through the shadows, Clint mulled over what he did know.  Maybe it was different growing up in the Depression, but from where Clint stood, giving up his life savings like that (however meager Clint thought it was compared to what Cap deserved) meant he wasn’t holding anything back for himself.  He’d just left Barnes everything he needed to disappear for good with no strings attached.  It was a clear signal he was leaving it up to Barnes, and that he’d stop trying to reach him.  So if Steve Rogers wasn’t planning for a future or to rescue Barnes, then what did that leave?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the action plays well, here. It was tough to do, more so than I expected. Comments are treasured. :) If there are any glaring errors, please let me know and I'll correct them. Thank you for reading!!


	4. Chapter 4 - Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world catches up.

Sam landed next to Stark and tried to get some control of his overexerted body while they waited for Steve and Clint. He’d been heaving deep breaths for half an hour now and knew he was at the end of his endurance. His stomach was still knotted with adrenaline; his arms burned with lactic acid buildup and his hands quivered from fatigue. Now that the fight was done he could barely make a fist. He’d strained more than a few muscles carrying a fighting Captain America.  
  
Thank God he was still in peak condition. It used to be for life or death; then it was stress management that kept him at the top of his game. Anything less and his dicey sleep habits plummeted into full blown insomnia. He’d left behind his Class A’s, but counseling vets was its’ own challenge. He’d tried damn hard not to take it home at the end of the day, but hell… _Who were you kidding, anyway?_  
  
He’s come full circle, but with so much more at stake. What he’d done almost two months ago helped save millions of lives. His older brother, his niece, three cousins and countless distant relations were also on that register. Arnim Zola cast a wide net: a veritable who’s who of people he’s known through the years made the cut.  
  
People wear t-shirts with their number on proud display now; it’s a badge of honor. His mom had a bunch made, including one for Steve. Sam’s number was 1,263,249; Steve was number 1. He wouldn’t wear it, but Sam intended to wear him down on that one.  
  
Even months later it was still on the tip of everyone’s tongue: what were you doing the day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell: the day so many were a hair’s breadth from dying? He’d thought he could relate to Steve Rogers before. Then he’d helped Captain America prevent genocide on par with Stalin, and yeah… Naïve was too small a word to cover it. Turns out he couldn’t relate at all - until now.  
  
The irony still burned. He’d seen enough press conferences and footage to recognize the signs – it was a big reason why he’d reached out as aggressively as he had. He thought he’d known Steve Rogers, and sure, he’d been a little right. He hadn’t counted on Steve having Sam’s number just as quick.  
  
It was a heady thing to be chosen as worthy by Captain America. Sam felt deep sympathy for the Howling Commandoes. It was bewildering, terrifying and damn near impossible not to try to live up to everything Sam thought Steve saw in him. It was also hard to keep sight of the man beneath all those masks he wore.  
  
“You okay?” Sam huffed at Stark as the man pulled up his faceplate to look around. He was breathing heavily too, but his attention was focused elsewhere. He nodded at Sam distractedly and gave a casual flop of his hand in acknowledgement.  
  
Sam rolled his shoulders and let his he head hang forward to stretch stiff tendons; assessing things as he cautiously turned his head left and right. He’d used straps before to keep his hands free when assigned to the 58th. Now that he had wings again ( _Yes!_ ) it was clear he needed to get kitted properly as soon as possible. Steve was heavy as hell, and using the wings required precise body control in a way that Cap throwing his damn shield around made near impossible to maintain.  
  
There were maybe three others in the world who knew just what kind of skill it took to fly like Sam just had. Catching Steve as he fell from the Insight carrier had nothing on carrying a fighting Captain America. He hadn’t super-hero’d long enough to be blasé like Stark. It was worth it to take a moment and savor that feeling of rightness; to let the knowledge of it sing in his heart: _Damn right I still got it._  
  
Sam caught sight of Maria Hill not too far away and couldn’t help the grin that surfaced. She’d made a hell of a first impression, and each time he saw her she still gave off the same kind of vibe. Humor and ridiculous competence looked great on her (Pepper Potts too, but Sam knew better than to say that around Stark).  
  
Steve talked on the phone with Maria almost as much as he did Tony (especially towards the beginning of the ‘recover Bucky tour’). That had been a surprise, considering the dynamics between Steve and Tony the first time Sam saw them in the same room together. Theirs was definitely a more complicated relationship.  
  
Maria looked to be in charge tonight, surrounded by lots of actual police (Sam hoped) as well as others in blue jackets like hers. She caught him looking her way and gave a brief nod before turning her attention back to the man beside her.  
  
Tony wore that faraway expression he got when interacting with his A.I.. Every few seconds he’d murmur softly, eyes sharp as he took in the scene. Steve had explained it once; the extent to which Stark multitasked: _“You get used to it. It’s easier when he’s with people he trusts, because then we can all hear what Jarvis says in response. He’s pretty funny, actually. He’s a good guy - A.I - whatever.“_  
  
Sam dearly wanted to know what the hell Stark was hearing now, because he was like a greyhound quivering in anticipation at the beginning of a race. Whatever had been simmering when Sam had first met the eccentric genius was written all over him now.  
  
Sam had a natural affinity for sensing when things shifted for good or ill, and his senses were tingling like crazy now. It was ironic as hell to find himself the guy most likely to call _bullshit_ with some of the most intimidating people in the world. His mom thought it was hysterical. He did _not_ appreciate her views on karma.  
  
He’d dealt with trauma for years, but the Avengers took PTSD to levels far beyond his expertise. Stark had the emotional maturity of a hedgehog and no concept of personal boundaries (both his own and others). He also had a tender underbelly the size of Jabba the Hutt’s. And open heart surgery six months ago. _I thought you were supposed to be retired from the Iron Man gig?_  
  
“Agent,” Stark greeted coolly, making Sam take note where his stony gaze zeroed in.  
  
The man Maria had been conversing with approached them. Two women followed a few steps behind. One of them - a lovely Asian - caught his eye instantly. She had the kind of easy grace that looked relaxed but wasn’t. While not polished like Natasha, Sam suspected they were of a similar ilk.  
  
Experience in the field taught him early on to identify the people best qualified to help secure the scene as much as possible. He had a knack for identifying the dangerous ones. He’d spotted Steve that first day before he’d even started his run.  
  
The other woman was a lot younger. She dressed identically to her counterpart but couldn’t be older than twenty. She took in the scene with bright eyes and looked out of place compared to the rest of the police and (former?) field agents.  
  
‘Agent’ was a non-descript guy in a suit that played to the ‘government’ stereotype. He had a widows’ peak, kind of squinty eyes and the cool demeanor of a pro (especially in the face of a hostile Stark and the two downed attack copters still burning in the background). He gave Stark a cursory nod then turned his attention to Sam.  
  
“Extraordinary flying, Major Wilson,” the man complimented.  
  
“Thanks, man, but I’m retired,” he said in a heavy exhale, glad to finally be recovering. “I’m just Sam.”  
  
He stood up from where he’d bent over with his palms on his knees and reached out a hand. “I sure hope you’re a good guy,” Sam added as he watched Tony carefully. Stark’s reaction wasn’t making it clear where ‘Agent’ landed on the good guy/bad guy spectrum.  
  
“We are, although apparently not everyone agrees,” the man replied blandly.  
  
Sam winced and wondered what the general public thought about Steve’s decision to put everything out there. From what he’d read, the media seemed pretty evenly split: Steve was either the ultimate whistleblower or a traitor. “Phil Coulson,” he introduced as he shook Sam’s hand.  
  
“Sorry about your agency,” Sam offered.  
  
“No you’re not. No he’s not. Don’t listen to him, he’s just being polite,” Stark said, folding his arms angrily. He opened his mouth to continue when a voice interrupted over the comms.  
  
 _“Iron Man, we’re on final approach,”_ they said, prompting Sam to look around. Multiple sets of blinking lights shined faintly in the west, and the first stirrings of air displacement heralded impending helicopters – a number of them. Tony didn’t look concerned, so Sam took his cues from that.  
  
“Yeah, well, you guys aren't the priority here,” Stark sniped in what had to be a separate conversation. He then closed his eyes in relief and turned towards where the woods were thickest. Sam could just make out the shadowy outlines of Cap with his shield in hand and Clint by his side emerging from the darkness.  
  
“There they are,” Agent Coulson breathed in relief. Sam could feel the tension ease from the others around him too.  
  
Sam watched carefully for a moment and then cursed at what he saw: “Aw hell.”  
  
“What?” Coulson asked.  
  
Sam knew the signs by now. Yes, Steve was walking unaided, but his pace was slow and careful (for him) and his left shoulder sagged slightly lower than his right. “He’s injured. They both are,” Sam amended, because he knew firsthand how much it hurt to hit a wall at even minimum velocity, then added, “I’m pretty sure Steve’s been shot.” He rubbed his hands on his face in frustration.  
  
He recognized that particular gait from the first few days out of the hospital. That was the patented Steve Rogers _I’m Fine, Nothing to See Here_ special. Barton wasn’t moving much better. And Clint had gotten hurt on his watch. _Dammit._  
  
 _“Is the scene secure?”_ the same voice asked over the radio, and Sam realized it sounded familiar. Looking towards the sky, he could make out by the sound that there were multiple medium/heavy lift transport helicopters on approach. He counted five, and circling the formation was a streak of white gold rocket trail he immediately recognized. That was the Iron Patriot Tony was talking to.  
  
Sam had a big ol’ soft spot for Colonel James Rhodes, and still hadn’t figured out how to drop into a conversation having met Stark’s best friend while on standby in Afghanistan during his manhunt. Sam would have been part of the first teams on site, but instead Tony had managed to rescue himself.  
  
“Yes, Rhodey. Looks like you’re in time to miss all the action -again,” Tony replied dryly, but Sam didn’t miss the soft private smile.  
  
A Marine in crisp dress blues crossed in front of them, his movements precise. Tony’s eyes trailed after, and Sam felt his breath catch as the penny dropped. This was Steve - the odds had to be that those were VH-3D Sea Kings. It was the only logical reason why a Marine would be here - in the middle of the night - in Prospect Park, _in uniform_. Every time Marine One landed, an armed Marine guard in his formals was required to be there to greet the President.  
  
“Seriously? Is this really the smartest place for the President of the United States to be?” Sam demanded. Tony shot him a look and Sam bristled as he put the pieces together.  
  
“Goddammit, Steve needs a doctor, not to have his arm twisted. And he sure as hell doesn’t need an inquisition,” he told Stark furiously, because now he knew why Tony had been radiating so much nervous energy.  
  
Hadn’t all of Steve’s friends agreed to respect his autonomy? Sam had been a part of numerous conversations, more than one of them including Tony, who’d been first in line to agree the government had no business trying to force Steve’s hand. If Stark played a part in coordinating this, then he was trying to force an outcome. Damned if it didn’t look likely to be successful too, Sam thought.  
  
“They brought a doctor with them,” Tony replied and narrowed his eyes, his focus now squarely on Sam. “Don’t you look at me like that, Sam Wilson. He knows what needs to happen next and so do you. Blame me if it makes you feel better, but it’s been coming since day one and you know it. So does Rogers. I’m just trying to insure we keep our hand in because otherwise the government is going to eminent domain Captain America, and we’ll never seem him again except in the news.”  
  
Sam reigned his frustration in and shook his head. “But did you have to arrange for the President to come here? Now?” Steve was hurt, exhausted, and hadn’t slept in at least thirty-eight hours.  
  
“That wasn’t Tony, Sam. We think the President’s decision to meet with Captain Rogers in person was what prompted the attack,” Rhodes explained as he joined them, “Well, that and the subpoenas.” Sam sighed then couldn’t help but smile as he clasped Col. Rhodes’ hand warmly.  
  
“Colonel,” Sam greeted with genuine affection and then added, “I understand the bro code, but I know misdirection when I hear it.” He then turned his glare back to Stark.  
  
“Hah! Same wiseass; different duds!” Rhodey laughed. “I tried, Tony. It’s good to see you again, Major.”  
  
Sam’s grin was wide even as his throat clenched in memory. Colonel Rhodes had gone to Riley’s funeral, and after three weeks had taken him out for a round of beers as he coaxed Sam back into his wings earlier than he’d intended.  
  
It had been rough, but he’d done it. Sam hadn’t known at the time, but Rhodes had guessed correctly that the Falcon program was in danger of being cut. He and a few other key people had tried damn hard to prevent that. Sam still appreciated the effort.  
  
“Samwise, you’ve been holding out on me. You two know each other?” Tony asked, eyes on Rhodes suspiciously.  
  
“Sure we do; zoomies need to stick together, right?” Rhodes replied, eyes shining and teeth bright in the semi-darkness. He’d raised his voice to be heard over the approaching helicopters.  
  
“That we do,” Sam agreed and looked to the sky for a moment before turning back towards Steve and Clint. To their left a patch of lawn had been cleared of personnel and flares were being set to establish the landing zone. He watched as Steve eyed them warily then exchanged a few words with Clint.  
  
“So let me get this straight: the order comes down to bring in Captain America, and they decide the President needs to do it?” Sam prompted, turning his attention back to Tony.  
  
“He’s said no to everyone else,” Tony replied with a shrug. “The Mountain figured Mohammed wasn’t coming any other way. Well, that and it seems no one wants to have to issue a contempt citation. A hundred bucks says begging will be involved,” he added glibly.  
  
“A contempt citation – yeah, I imagine they’d want to avoid that,” Sam agreed faintly. “Making Captain America a fugitive hasn’t worked well for anyone so far.”  
  
“Gentlemen,” Steve greeted as he and Clint approached their motley group, as closed off as he’d seen him in a long time. “Director,” he added dryly towards Phil, his reaction too complicated to get a bead on. The agent’s outward demeanor didn’t change but Agent Coulson’s spine straightened perceptibly, and Sam had to suppress a snort. Oh yeah, he recognized that body language – he did it himself.  
  
“You okay Sam? Tony?” Steve asked, his attention solely on them now.  
  
“Fit as a fiddle; don’t even start your mothering,” Tony warned with narrowed eyes. Sam just nodded and then raised his hand to point at the blood discoloring Steve’s shirt. Before he could say anything he froze in surprise at the change in expression as Steve’s eyes swept over the others behind Coulson.  
  
“Agent May, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Steve said with sincerity and reached out slowly to shake her hand. He was careful with his movements but without the tension extreme pain indicated, Sam noted with relief.  
  
“Captain Rogers,” she replied with an almost smile, and even Director Coulson seemed taken aback that they knew each other. Sam didn’t know who she was, but most everyone else seemed to. He hated when he didn’t know the subtext.  
  
“Looks like you need a medic,” Rhodey added above the increased roar of the approaching copters as he too stepped forward and shook Steve’s hand. _Less hand shaking and more getting seen to,_ Sam thought in frustration at the Captain America persona on full display.  
  
Steve grimaced and looked over his shoulder. As the engine noise ratcheted up Steve’s hair started to whip around his face. His face got pinched and he briefly went to raise his hands before aborting the movement and clenching them at his side instead.  
  
 _Oh,_ Sam realized. _That’s right: he has enhanced hearing too._  
  
“Clint needs a medic. I think I’m going to have to wait,” Steve disagreed, somehow able to project without raising his voice. “You two sure you’re fine?” Steve asked Tony and Sam again, carefully assessing their condition with his own eyes.  
  
“We weren’t on the menu. That was you, lamb chops,” Tony replied, using the suit to amplify his voice, the cheater.  
  
By now two of the helicopters were skimming over the rim of trees that lined the clearing on their final approach. The gleaming white tops were distinct in the artificial lighting, identical in every way but one. Marine One was designated to the one carrying the President; the other a perpetual decoy in a flying shell game. _How is this my life?_ Sam wondered, not even for the thousandth time at this point.  
  
The Marine guard shifted from standing at attention to bracing slightly forward and holding his hat against the fierce wind of the blades. The two copters hovered briefly and touched down so gently Sam suspected a glass of water balanced on one of the wheels wouldn’t have spilt. Some of the agents gathered around the lighting towers to keep them from blowing over, and even Maria held a hand in front of her to shield her eyes from the flying debris.  
  
Sam turned back to find Steve looking on him, his fingers pressed against his ears to help muffle the noise. His face was still resolute but his eyes were warm with wry humor: Steve Rogers was briefly peeking out. After a few seconds Steve gave a slight right shouldered shrug and raised his eyebrows in silent conversation: _What can you do?_  
  
Sam shook his head ruefully and couldn’t help but laugh. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he could see that while Steve was hurt, it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. Still, fresh blood stained his shirt at having to plug his ears  
  
“I imagined something different when we talked about taking a few days off once we got back to New York,” Sam yelled to be heard over the fwap-fwap-fwap of the tail rotors and the engine noise.  
  
“Time and tide wait for no man,” Steve said in a tone laden with experience. His expression and gaze shifted, and suddenly he was light years beyond Sam’s reach. This was _the_ Captain America; immortalized and idolized; weary and carrying the weight of a nation on his shoulders – with nothing left but resolve. The one forever caught up in history. Sam ached for his friend.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sam offered, and he was, for a lot of things.  
  
“Don’t let Clint duck out on being seen to,” Steve instructed as the rotors’ whine died down as the blades slowed to a stop. Sam was still trying to think of something to say when the hatchway of the copter closest to them swung to the ground, revealing the President of the United States; head on a swivel as he searched the scene with a single minded focus.  
  
“I’ll see you in D.C.,” Sam said – a reminder that Steve wasn’t ditching him this easily - and held out his hand. “Don’t sell the farm, okay?”  
  
“They still say that, huh?” Steve replied, eyes bright. He then gave a smile that was all teeth and no humor. “It’s a seller’s market, Sam, and I intend to make them pay.”  
  
A chill zinged up Sam’s back as Steve turned and walked away without a backward glance. The President couldn’t yet pick out where Captain America was, but that precise pivot gave him away instantly. Sam winced at the bright polished smile that lit up the politician’s face.  
  
“The Winter Soldier was built for battle,” Director Coulson said as he came to stand by Sam, “But that man is made for war. None of us want this for him, but look at the mark he’s made on history, and he was just getting started. We are all clearly ill-equipped to handle HYDRA. That man is the best hope this country has to save us from a fate that until a few months ago would have been unimaginable.”  
  
And even as Sam the counselor grieved for Steve Rogers, he was self-aware enough to admit that he felt it too - that electric anticipation. The world had seen Captain America fight a war. They'd never seen him wage one. But they were about to.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm With You is outlined, but this first chapter hasn't been beta'd. I'm just putting myself out there to get things rolling, so I apologize in advance if there are glaring omissions. Hopefully I've caught most things. I will probably update this as I get further into the story. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy! It's been a while, so I'm feeling very rusty.


End file.
